


Aerospace

by Yùu (Yuutfa)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Sky Pirates, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuutfa/pseuds/Y%C3%B9u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a case leads John to a first class suite in an airship, little to no information on the class and fucking sky pirates, John once more finds himself thinking: <i>Oh good lord, I’m going to die.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Aerospace

**Author's Note:**

> Oh and for those of you who are confused, think of Sherlock’s goggles as framed safety goggles. John’s are standard aviator goggles.

The engine spluttered and coughed as it worked along the many others that accompanied it. The floor was practically humming inside the humid and stuffy room, but despite this, the workers paid no heed. They were used to the sweltering conditions. After all, this was what they were paid to do. The manual labourers took shifts shuffling coal into the hungry embers while the smaller and less built engineers flitted about the room, checking meters and charts to ensure that the aircraft did not explode. Commands, brisk and sharp, were slung overhead; just small things. ‘Check the temperature for engine four’, ‘pass me that wrench’, minor, little things that ultimately kept the aircraft afloat. The more important commands were conveyed through the telecom system, the series of conical horns attached to the far wall, away from the gasps and wheeze of the engines. The system led up to the command office and just about every important room aboard the airship.

John frowned and adjusted his goggles, wiping the steam off with his hand for the umpteenth time. With a deep set frown and his hands in his pockets, he peered up at his companion. “Why are we here again?” he asked, though his voice was muted by the activity of the room. When he was ignored, John raised his voice and repeated himself. “Sherlock? I asked, why are we here?”

“Oh, do be quiet. I heard you the first time,” Sherlock snapped. He strode forward, drawing dangerously close to one of the more sluggish engines, peering at the regulator before he was shooed away by one of the workers. When he returned, a petulant expression graced his features. “I gathered the necessary data, let’s go, John.”

Confused as hell, but eternally grateful that he was finally able to escape the sweltering sauna, John nodded and followed after the Consulting Detective.

The shift in atmosphere from the engine room to the main hallway was staggering and it took John a few moments to regain composure. The air was breathable for one, and the temperature had dropped such a considerable amount that John had acquired the slightest of trembles. It soon passed and he stood upright, his fingers grazed against the edge of his goggles before grasping firmly and yanking them to rest it atop his head. Oh, it was wonderful being able to see again! That steam was driving him crazy.

Sherlock too, had removed his eyewear; metal framed goggles as opposed to John’s traditional leather strapped ones. Clasping the thick stems of the end-pieces in on itself, Sherlock kept the goggles loosely in his hand.

“Come now, we need to head to deck. We mustn’t dawdle.” 

“God, will you just slow down?” John said. “And don’t give me that look. The one that says that we both know what’s going on, when in reality only you know and I’m left clueless.”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and placed a hand to his hip.

“Just...what’s going on? Why did you decide to drag me aboard an airship with first class tickets? These things cost more than our rent, there’s no way you could’ve gotten them so easily.” He paused. “So, top secret mission from Mycroft then?”

Sherlock’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I see that you’re learning. Your reasoning, though crude, is slowly getting better.”

John ignored the backhanded compliment and stared Sherlock down. “You hate working for your brother,” he noted with some internal glee that Sherlock had flinched at the words ‘working for’.

“I am not working for him,” Sherlock corrected sharply. “I owe him a favour, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh, sure you do.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows knitted together in a pique of ire, however the moment soon passed and he huffed, turning his head defiantly in the opposite direction. “You’ll find out all in due time.”

“So, when I’m getting shot at?”

At this, Sherlock cracked a smile. “Of course, when else would you have an epiphany?”

John rolled his eyes and walked ahead. “The deck, right?

“Yes, starboard. I’m expecting a few guests soon.”

John paused, turning to peer over his shoulder. In the corridor of lush red carpeting and golden walls, Sherlock’s dark overcoat stood out like a sore thumb. “Guests? We’re thousands of feet up in the air.”

“Yes?” Sherlock drawled. With a flick of the wrist, the end-pieces of the goggles fell open and he slid them onto his face. Without another word, he strode past him and out the door. 

By this point, John decided that it was futile trying to get a straight answer from Sherlock. With a long suffering sigh, John shook his head and once more, followed after.

~*~

John squeezed his eyes shut the moment the wind blast him in the face. Once again, he was assaulted by the cold chill and immediately, he drew his arms together, hugging himself in an attempt to keep warm. It didn’t work.

“Go grab a thicker coat and something to eat from the dining room. They won’t be here for a while.”

John looked up, squinting to prevent the squalls from drying out his eyes. “What about you?” He frowned at detective. Well, of course he’d be standing upright, taking the full brunt of the wind as if nothing was wrong, looking fucking perfect with those goggles shielding those eyes.

“I’ll wait here.”

John decided that it was best not to argue. “Have you eaten?” he asked instead.

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“I’m good till Friday.” He was blind to the incredulous look John was currently aiming at him.

“I’ll get you a honey cake.”

~*~

Sherlock started when a cake was shoved into his mouth and something woollen was draped over his shoulders. Oh, a shawl? A little annoyed that he was snapped out of his thoughts so easily, but grateful for the cover, he peered down at his companion. 

“This wasn’t necessary,” he said after pulling the cake out from his mouth. He blinked and lowered his arms when John busied himself with a broach to fix the shawl onto Sherlock’s shoulders. It was now, that Sherlock noticed, that John had exchanged his thin black jacket for a thicker one and a hooded cape presently hung loose over his shoulders.

John stepped back to check that the shawl was fastened properly. “I’m your doctor, I know what’s good for you, even if you don’t,” he added as an afterthought. 

Despite himself, Sherlock stilled at the word ‘your’. He knew that John didn’t mean it in that way and that he had said it thoughtlessly but it didn’t stop the small bubble of warmth from blossoming in the pit of his stomach. He pushed it away. Damn, those hateful human emotions had been creeping up too much as of late; it was starting to get in the way of work. 

“Now eat the rest of that cake. Keep your blood sugar up, it’s not an overly large meal so the digestion won’t slow you down that much.” John turned, placing his gloved hands on the railing and peering into the swirl of clouds, he grimaced. No doubt he was dubious as to the visitor claim. Predictable. 

“Sky pirates,” Sherlock said, joining his friend in cloud watching. “They’re after the engines.”

“The...engines?” John asked slowly.

“Yes, yes, the engines. We’re aboard the Diogenes, the most innovative airship in England. The technology and planning needed to create this ship is experimental and not to mention very exclusive. Rival companies will pay a hefty sum for an engine they can take apart. The black market, even more so,” he explained with a flippant wave of the hand.

“So when we were in the engine room before...”

“I was checking which one would be the most likely target.” He saw the expectant look on John’s face; a sign to continue. “The fourth one, the one that was working at half capacity. The loosened bolts will make it easier for them.”

“What about the heat of them? You can’t just pluck a hunk of burning metal out, can you?”

Honestly, why was John so simple? Sherlock let out an irate sigh and folded his arms. Should he explain? No, that would be a waste of breath and besides, John would find out soon enough. Better for him to find out in the heat of the battlefield than to waste time by verbally explaining it; the latter would most likely leave room for misunderstanding and error. 

Before Sherlock could continue down that line of thought, an ear-splitting crack resounded through the skies. Wood splintering, screams resonating from the cabins below, gunshots—

Pain flared out from his shoulder blades as he did his best to piece together what happened. There was a weight on his chest, the sound of harsh breathing from above him and a pressure between his hips. His eyes widened, what the hell—

Oh, there was a bullet hole where he was just standing. That made sense. So John hadn’t pinned him to the ground for no reason. Odd, why was he a little disappointed by that?

John wasted no time getting to his feet and pulling Sherlock up with a sharp tug. The mayhem had increased tenfold; the gunshots rained down with a flurry of firecracker explosions, a few workers aboard had come up on deck to see what was happening and below, giant maws of hooks had latched onto the side of the ship. That was what Sherlock could see in the ten seconds it took John to pull him into the cabin.

“I thought you said that they were only going to take one engine!” John gasped, cautiously resting his back against the wall as he did.

“After they crash the ship, yes,” Sherlock snapped. 

“You’ve got a plan to stop this, right? If you do, you should tell me now.”

Glass from the windows behind them cracked at the force of an explosion from outside. The lines began to spread across the surface of the glass, weakening its structure.

“I’m still in the process of working out any flaws.”

“Doesn’t matter! Give me something to work with, you twat!”

Another explosion and the windows exploded.

Sherlock moved to cover John from the shower of glass, but the army doctor’s reflexes were faster. The thick cape was pulled from his shoulders and covered them both from the shards of glass. Some of the more persistent pieces had torn a few parts of the fabric, but otherwise both men were left relatively intact. 

A few high tension seconds passed before John shrugged the cape off and threw it to the side.

“You’re hurt,” Sherlock said, pointing to the gash on John’s forearm.

“It’s not bleeding that much, I’ll live. Just tell me what we have to do to get out of this alive.”

Sherlock did his best to tear his eyes away from the wound and nodded stiffly. “Do you have your gun?” John nodded. “Good. We’re storming a pirate ship,” he said with a manic grin.

~*~

Oh good lord, I’m going to die.

That was the prevailing thought in John’s mind as he dodged another barrage of bullets. The sky pirates were starting to board the Diogenes and behind them, John could hear some of the wealthy passengers getting assaulted. His conscience screamed at him, telling him to go back to help them but at the moment, he was more focused on keeping the madman in front of him alive. Besides, the couples’ bodyguard was putting up a good fight, they would be fine.

The journey across the boarding plank was precarious at best and if John had been a lesser man, he most likely would have passed out from fright right there and then. But he didn’t. Instead, he swallowed thickly and remained steadfast; not looking down, he took steady strides across the board and onto the ship. Of course, it went without saying that they were shot at but by some holy miracle, none of the bullets hit their mark; they simply grazed them or hit the spot in which they previously stood. 

The moment they were off the unsteady board, they took off, narrowly avoiding the blind attacks aimed in their direction. They fell into a steady cadence as they began their well practiced dance, Sherlock rushed ahead while he stayed close behind, covering him as the detective did the same from the front. They worked in tandem, covering for one another’s faults and as adrenaline coursed through his veins, John could only think that this was all bloody brilliant. This was exactly why he loved having Sherlock around.

He faltered when Sherlock leapt over the railing and down into the lowered deck, it was a good twelve feet drop and if it hadn’t been for the fact that Sherlock had purposefully landed on someone, he would have broken something. Biting the inside of his cheek and assessing the risks, John snarled and headed for the set of stairs on the side, leaping down halfway when he was sure that he wouldn’t be injured.

And just like that, the partnership was broken and Sherlock had sped ahead. Like usual. He pushed aside the familiar feeling of frustration and chased after the overgrown child down a cabin corridor and... ah! Through that open door!

He skidded to a halt.

“Oh John, good of you to join us.”

John gaped, taking in the scene before him. A man, much older than them, aiming a gun at Sherlock’s head. The office was empty save them and judging by the assortment of ship parts, maps and books on aerospace, he could only gather that he was in the captain’s office. And that the man in front of him was the captain.

Apparently, his appearance was all the distraction Sherlock needed to tackle the captain to the ground and pry the gun from his hand. Sitting on his back and pulling the arms back, Sherlock picked up the gun and placed the barrel to the back of the man’s skull.

“The rope, if you please? It’s in the corner over there.”

John dumbly obeyed and tied up the man’s hands as instructed.

“Alright, Mr Hope? If you could cooperate with us, this whole operation will go just swimmingly.”

~*~

“You, are...”

Sherlock looked up from his mug of tea, arching an eyebrow, he leaned against the steel wall of the garage and flitted through the many ways John could end that sentence. ‘Brilliant’. He would like ‘brilliant’, that was his favourite compliment by far, it always managed to fill him up with glee. But no, judging by the look of exasperation, it was going to be a negative statement.

“...a bloody lunatic.”

Yep, completely called that one. Sherlock’s shoulders sagged and let his gaze fall onto the broken heap of an airship in the holding bay to his left. Damaged to the extreme, it was a wonder that they were even able to land safely at all. Had it not been for the pirate ship supporting them with the hooks, the airship would have fallen out of the skies faster than a lead balloon. There were casualties, of course, but thankfully only a few were dead. Mycroft would give him less of an earful. 

“Really, what were you thinking? Just rushing ahead like that?”

“I was thinking that you’d come in to back me up,” Sherlock replied steadily, letting his eyes fall onto the bandage on John’s arm.

John’s anger dissipated at that and he sighed, self-consciously covering the bandage with a hand. “So you knew he’d be too distracted to shoot you?”

“Of course.” Sherlock felt his cheeks warm slightly when John aimed that kind, lop sided smile at him.

“What am I going to do with you, you insufferable git?” John asked, with a shake of his head.

Sherlock’s mouth moved before his brain had a chance to intervene. “Join me in dinner, I hope. I’m absolutely famished.”


End file.
